


The Lip Bite

by Attasee



Series: Suits and Umberella’s [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 16:04:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attasee/pseuds/Attasee
Summary: Suits, umberella’s and bonus body parts.





	The Lip Bite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tink535](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tink535/gifts).

The first thing that Mycroft had noticed about the detective was his smile. Nobody, he believed, could be that happy when much of their day was filled with death and Sherlock. At first it unsettled Mycroft, surely no one smiled that much – not without an ulterior motive anyway – and so had he ignored the flutter that it gave him in his stomach and gritted his teeth when the owner of said smile would approach him to debrief.

Next he noticed the swagger. It was a smooth glide in scruffy shoes (sporting a seductive smile of course) that had more power than a steam engine crashing into sidings, with as equally devastating results. The swagger Mycroft observed, usually also came with a hair ruffle that left tufts of silver hair lopsided, as if someone (not Mycroft) had roughed the Detective up a little.

Not that Mycroft had wanted to rough the Detective up of course, but still, one could… well yes.

The lip bite had appeared later, one early morning as the dawn had crept up upon them. They had been standing in a graveyard and while Sherlock and the Detective spent the evening pacing around, delegating jobs and shouting at each other, Mycroft had instead watched the Detective pull at his tie, look up to the sky in despair and then finally, devastatingly, look at Mycroft and bite his bottom lip.

Mycroft had felt it in every nerve ending in his body.

The pull of the skin.

The glimpse of white teeth.

And finally.

Finally.

The tip of a pink tongue.

Mycroft almost burst into flames. Not a pitiful bonfire’s worth of flames that could be doused with a bucket of water, no, a volcano’s worth. Endless eruptions that continued for days and which reverberated around his body for a week after. For seven days (and the rest) he found it hard to concentrate, hard to focus, hard to breathe. His suits felt tight, his shoes uncomfortable, his fountain pen heavy....everything... everything was just ‘not right’.

All because of a lip bite.

Soft.

Gentle.

And one firmly directed at Mycroft.


End file.
